


The Light of the Azran

by WhiteOak



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Azran Legacy Spoilers, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Post-Azran Legacy, by which I mean Emmy beating up bad guys
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:58:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,289
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15721518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteOak/pseuds/WhiteOak
Summary: Written as part of the Layton Big Bang 2018 for the prompt "After being revived, the Bostonius gang gain Azran superpowers."As the Professor, Luke, Emmy and Desmond discover strange new abilities and are forced to reunite to deal with them, a letter reaches Luke from old friends in Misthallery, begging for help as the branch of Targent in charge of researching the Golden Garden refuses to relinquish its hold over the town.





	The Light of the Azran

Note: Corresponding art piece [here](https://neydraws-blog.tumblr.com/post/177134589391/my-contribution-to-laytonbigbang-2018)

 

 

In the weeks that followed the whirl-wind trip around the world culminating in the confrontation in the Azran Sanctuary, the crew of the Bostonius had dispersed very quickly and had seen little of each other since.

All had been deeply shaken by their experience, which had spiralled out of control so quickly, and ended so tragically. They needed time to rest and recover from the ordeal.

Little did they know it was only the beginning.

 

 

It was Luke who was the first to notice something was different.

He’d been speaking to animals since he was little, and he had met all sorts. Some were friendly, some were rude, some shy, some forthcoming, some downright disinterested.

Overall, he’d mostly been treated as either a friend or an annoyance by the animals he struck up conversations with.

He’d never been treated like royalty. That was definitely new, and quite unnerving.

“How was your walk?” his father asked when he’d returned from the park that afternoon, clearly pleased that Luke had taken his advice of going outside for some fresh air. He’d spent most of the previous week shut up in his room, mourning the loss of his friend Aurora, and his parents had been worried.  

Luke sat down at the table, frowning slightly.

“Three dogs bowed to me,” he said. “And two squirrels and a bird called me a lord. I tried to ask them why, but they didn’t hang around long enough. I’m… confused.”

“A lord, you say?” Clark repeated, amused. “I didn’t realise the local wildlife thought so highly of you, son!”

When Luke didn’t smile, Clark’s faded too.

“Did it upset you, Luke?” he asked seriously, laying a hand on his son’s shoulder.

Luke looked up at him, brow furrowed.

“Not really, I suppose, but it was just so _strange_. I don’t understand it.”

“Well, it may have been a misunderstanding,” said Clark. “Maybe you misheard them? I’ve always found squirrels a bit difficult to understand, myself. They do chatter so quickly.”

Luke shook his head. “No, it was the opposite. I don’t think I’ve ever heard animals speak so _clearly_ before.”

It had continued over the next few days, animals starting to seek him out wherever he went, bringing him presents of acorns and old bones, treating him with strange reverence and fawning over him.

It wasn’t until his outing with his parents the next week, though, that any of them truly realised how serious the matter was.

They’d been out to the shops to find Luke a new blue jumper, seeing as the sleeves on his favourite blue blazer were getting a little short, and had decided to walk back through the local park. There, they had come across an elderly woman in distress, searching the ground for her wedding ring, which had slipped from her finger and vanished.

“I don’t understand!” she’d told them, dismayed. “It’s got such a lovely shiny diamond on it – I polish it every day, you know – that it should be easy to see, but I can’t find it anywhere!”

Clark and Luke had immediately started scouring the path alongside her, but Brenda, quick as always, had solved the puzzle a moment later by turning her gaze upwards instead.

“There!” she’d called, pointing to the offending magpie, who was perched in a nearby oak with something glittering in its beak.

“Well done, dear!” Clark exclaimed, and the three gave chase as the bird spread its wings and fluttered over to another tree, and placed the ring down carefully in its nest.

“I say!” called Clark, “Would you mind bringing that back, old chap? The good lady here is rather attached to it, you see!”

“ _Rack off!_ ” the magpie squawked back rudely. “ _Mine!_ ” 

“Well, that’s nice,” said Clark, miffed.

“What did he say, dear?” asked Brenda.

“Doesn’t bear repeating, my love,” Clark told her. “Suffice to say he was rather rude.”

_“Mine!”_ the bird repeated. _“You want one, go find your own!”_

“You shouldn’t take what doesn’t belong to you!” Luke called up at the indignant bird. “Bring that ring back this instant!”

All at once, a change seemed to come over the bird. He stopped hopping up and down agitatedly, and cocked his head, staring intently at Luke.

_“Oh, well now, I do apologise, my lord,”_ he said, his tone suddenly ingratiating. _“I didn’t see you there. I’ll be right down.”_

He hopped back to his nest and picked up the ring.

“Luke…” Brenda whispered fearfully, “Son… your eyes are glowing!”

“What?” Clark, who had been focussed on the magpie, interested to see the strange phenomenon Luke had told him about, glanced over and gave a startled cry. “My goodness, you’re right!”

“My eyes are _what?!_ ” exclaimed Luke.

The magpie fluttered down and placed the ring neatly at Luke’s feet, then bowed deeply to him.

_“I really am very sorry, my lord,”_ he continued in his whiny, flattering tone. _“Please, take it my lord. A gift from your humble servant.”_

“Er, yes, thank you,” said Luke distractedly, picking it up as the magpie beat a hasty retreat.

His parents glanced at each other.

“I believe,” said Clark, a little shakily, “That we should pay Hershel a visit.”

 

 

The next to find out was Emmy.

She was in a marketplace in the north of England at night, when she heard a cry for help. Following the sound, she found two men towering over an older man, who was being held painfully tightly by the upper arms while his pockets were turned out.

Emmy hadn’t thought twice before going to his aid. She knew how to fight, thanks to Leon’s training and years of experience, and could easily take on two at once. She had done so in the past, and tonight would be no different.

Except it was.

Not that things went _wrong_ , per se. In fact, it was almost _too_ easy.

The kick she delivered to the closest thug was intended to knock him off balance so she could follow up with another blow, but it sent him crashing against the nearest wall so hard he was instantly knocked unconscious and the bricks behind him were knocked askew.

Before she had time to properly register what had occurred, his accomplice was coming for her, and she greeted him with a punch to the jaw. It was a simple punch, but the big man went flying with a grunt of pain, and landed in a large dumpster a fair distance down the alley.

Emmy looked around at the destruction she’d caused, then down at her own hands, confused. Then she turned to the old man, who hurriedly backed up a few steps, eyes wide. 

“Alien, is it?” he asked, before hurrying on without waiting for a reply, “Well I’m awfully grateful for the help of your super-strength an’ all, but I’ll be on my way now if that’s all the same to you.”

“An alien?” repeated Emmy, startled. She took a step forward. “I assure you, sir…”

The old man started and held up his hands quickly. “I don’t want to know no more, miss,” he babbled. “I seen your eyes all a’glowin, I did. That’s enough for me. It always does my head in when my grandchildren try to tell me all about those newfangled rocking ships they’re building these days, to see the stars of all things. I ain’t never understood a word. But don’t you worry, I won’t go tellin’ no one you was here. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be off. Goodnight, miss!” 

And with that he turned and pottered hurriedly away. Emmy watched him go, utterly perplexed, then peered at her reflection in a nearby window. Her reflection stared back at her curiously.

Her new short hair cut made her face more prominent, which she was still getting used to, but although her eyes seemed a little bigger, they most certainly were not glowing.

She made her way back to the little hotel she was staying in, taking the back entrance to avoid going through the busy pub on the ground floor. When she reached her room, she examined her eyes in the mirror again, just to make sure. Once she was certain nothing was amiss, her thoughts turned to the first strange phenomenon of the evening – her sudden burst of greater strength.

Emmy had always been strong, even as a young girl. She was well-built, and had been training with Uncle Leon since she was young. She could topple a man twice her size. But throwing one down an alley so far that he almost disappeared from view? That was new.

She regarded the beat-up sofa in front of her for a moment, then, not quite sure what she was expecting, tried to lift it.

It was a heavy old thing, and she managed to heft it a couple of inches off the ground before she had to put it back. Nothing special. But the action left Emmy with a strange feeling that she could do better.

She frowned at the sofa, focussed all her attention on it. Reason told her it was impossible to pick up, but something else was telling her otherwise.

Emmy set her mouth in a determined line, readjusted her grip, and lifted.

Power surged through her, the type of strength and confidence she felt when she was winning a fight, and the sofa was plucked from the ground, hefted as easily as if it were made of hollow plastic.

Emmy found herself grinning fiercely at the feeling, a grin which slowly faded as she realised what she was doing. How was this possible?

Then she caught sight of herself in the mirror, and she froze. Her eyes were glowing. Glowing a bright, pure blue, like the eyes that haunted her dreams every night since that fateful day in Froenburg. Glowing the blue of Azran magic.

The sofa dropped to the ground with a thud, causing a vague stir in the voices from the pub below. Emmy ignored it, already across the room in a couple of quick strides and tearing a page from her notebook, uncapping her pen to write the words she never thought she’d use again.

_Dear Professor Layton,_

_I believe I am in need of your assistance…_

 

 

Desmond also found out about his new abilities over the next few days, and in a rather more dramatic fashion than he would have liked. The news station he was listening to had mentioned the arrest of his father, causing a burst of rage flash through him, and the radio to suddenly shattered in a burst of pink energy.

He gave a yell of shock and dropped the heavy book he’d been holding, which promptly fell on his foot. With a shout of pain, he hopped backwards and cursed at the offending encyclopedia, which obligingly vanished in another flash of pink.

Desmond stared at the charred remains of the book in disbelief, then clapped his hands over his eyes.

“No,” he whispered. “Impossible. This isn’t happening.”

Not daring to open his eyes, he groped around for the back of his armchair and sat down shakily. He was hallucinating, surely. It was that damned pink light again, the light that haunted his sleepless nights, and taken his life away, if only temporarily.

It had burned him, tortured him, drained all his energy away until he was nothing, no one, nowhere, drifting without purpose or reason in an endless black abyss.

Part of him almost wished he hadn’t been brought back, because at least when he’d been nothing he hadn’t been so terrified by the gaping darkness. Living with the memory of it was driving him to the edge.

“Raymond?” he called, wincing at the slight hysterical note in his voice. “Are you there?”

“Here, master,” came his manservant’s soft voice, and Desmond let out a strangled sob of relief.

“The… the radio…” he gasped out. “And the book…”

Raymond’s reaction was no more than a tut of surprise, but it was enough to tell Desmond that he hadn’t imagined the whole thing.

“May I inquire as to what happened, master?”

“I did it,” Desmond whispered. “I don’t know how, but I was angry, and then…” He broke off, unable to finish.

“You, master?” asked Raymond.

“Yes, it…” he sighed. “Pink light. From my eyes. It was like the… like the…”

“I see,” said Raymond quickly, and Desmond nodded, thankful that Raymond didn’t make him mention the Azran Sanctuary.

“That is most peculiar, if you will pardon me for saying so, master,” Raymond continued after a moment. “Are you certain that is what occurred?”

“Yes,” groaned Desmond.

He opened his eyes slowly, and was met with a view of a charred segment of the radio, sitting smoking gently on the carpet.

“I thought I’d be left in peace after the _incident_ ,” he spat bitterly. “Why can’t things just be simple now?” His voice rose to a shout. “I don’t _want_ any more trouble!”

All at once, his eyes were burning, his vision was colouring, the glass window opposite him was shattering into tiny pieces which were raining down into the carpet.

He gave a strangled yell and covered his eyes, rocking slightly before cracking them open again.

Raymond had flinched back when the window broke, but now he was carefully examining the shards.

“Your eyes were glowing, master,” Raymond noted, much calmer than he had any right to be.

“Glowing?” Desmond repeated impatiently. “They didn’t just glow, they shot out that damned pink light!”

“But before that they glowed blue, master. Similar to… similar to the young lady you’d prefer we don’t mention, if you’ll forgive me, master. Then it changed to pink, as you said.”

Desmond was silent for a moment before speaking again.

“So you’re saying… this means that this… _development_ has been caused by the Azran?” He huffed. “I suppose it must be. What other explanation is there?”

Both lapsed into silence again, staring at the broken window.

“If I might make a suggestion, master,” Raymond spoke up eventually, “Perhaps we should seek assistance.”

Desmond glanced up sharply. “What do you mean?” he demanded.

“I think you know who I mean, master.”

“No,” said Desmond immediately.

“He is well versed in the field, as you are, and he was there with you in that sanctuary. He may well be experiencing similar problems, for all we know. And… he is your brother, master.”

“Whom I tried to _kill_ , Raymond,” Desmond reminded him bitterly. “I burned that bridge long ago. No, I’ll deal with this myself. We will _not_ be contacting Layton, and that’s final!”

Raymond bowed.

“As you wish, master,” he said, and turned away.

 

 

A few days later, Professor Layton sat at his desk, attempting to grade some of his students’ papers. Unfortunately, with news of his adventure circulating through the campus, many had chosen to do their short study on Azran artefacts or texts, and it was stirring up memories he’d rather forget right now.

_The concept of flight featured prominently in Azran art,_ wrote one student, _Likely because of their beliefs that their deities were linked closely with the sky. This manifested itself mostly in the recurring bird motifs so characteristic of their civilisation, but murals have been uncovered which depict humanoid figures and even entire buildings taking to the skies…_

Layton shuddered as he was reminded of the flying sanctuary, and the hoards of golems emerging from deep inside to fill the skies. And then, more haunting even than the killer automatons, was the fear in Luke’s eyes, the crushing realisation that maybe this time he couldn’t save his dear apprentice. The fact that Luke had been the first among them to step forward and sacrifice his life for the sake of the world, dear Luke who was only _eleven_ for goodness’s sake, and should never have had to make such a choice in the first place.

He turned aside from the papers, sighing heavily, and caught sight of Emmy’s letter on the corner of his desk. He frowned as he recalled its contents, Emmy’s worried account of a curious change which had come over her recently. It seemed disturbingly similar to the concerned phone call he’d received from Clark about Luke, especially the mention of glowing blue eyes.

He was meeting with the Tritons that night after work in the hope of solving that particular puzzle, but Emmy’s news complicated matters. Was this something which had potentially affected all involved? Should he himself be worried?

He was pulled from his reverie by a knock at his office door.

“Come in,” he called automatically, and Doctor Schrader appeared in the doorway, clutching a sheaf of documents.

“Afternoon Hershel, my boy!” he said cheerily, bustling into the office. “How are you? Working hard, as always, I see!”

Layton glanced guiltily down at the pile of unmarked work, but Schrader didn’t seem to notice.

“I’ve finally cracked it!” he crowed, flinging the documents down on Layton’s desk triumphantly. “That old text I’ve been slaving over for so long! It’s done! Finished! Fully translated!”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear it,” said the Professor warmly. “My congratulations, Andrew.”

“Over _two hundred_ ancient spells and curses, in _ten_ different dead languages, in no logical order! I tell you, I was very close to packing it in! But I got there in the end!”

Layton smiled and nodded as the Doctor thrust the pages of close-packed scribbling under his nose, barely legible. The more excited Shrader was, the worse his handwriting tended to be.

“You see, here,” said the Doctor, shuffling the papers around, “Is the copy of the original text I had to make…”

Layton blinked as that too was pushed under his nose, the strange foreign alphabets dancing before his eyes, then his brow creased slightly.

“How… how strange,” he said slowly.

“Hm? What’s strange?” asked Schrader.

“This script is unfamiliar to me… Akkadian, I’d guess? And the one below, the Babylonian dialect?”

“Yes, yes, that’s right,” said Schrader, puzzled.

“I never studied either,” Layton continued, mystified, “And yet… these texts seems to make sense to me. An old summoning spell, it would appear?”

“You can read them?” exclaimed Schrader. “Without any references?”

“I… believe I can,” Layton replied. “May I? Please tell me if I am correct.”

He took the paper from Schrader and, still frowning slightly, began to read the first spell.

 

_“Each name I read, come forth to fly_

_To stir the wind, to fill the sky_

_My bidding done, my foes struck down_

_My tasks complete, lost objects found_

_Come flock to me, your only lord_

_And do my will, my demon hoard_

_Come Fanged One, Horned One…”_

 

A rumble seemed to sound from somewhere under their feet and the Professor broke off, startled, and looked up.

“I say,” he said, “What was that?”

He turned to the Doctor, only to find him staring back in shock, his mouth moving wordlessly.

“Andrew?” he asked, “Whatever’s the matter?”

“Hershel, your… your eyes, my boy!”

“My…?” Layton repeated blankly.

“They’ve gone blue!”

Before either of them could remark further on the fact, a low growl rattled the office walls, and a shadow seemed to tear itself out from under the desk. Both men let out a startled cry as the dark shape flew into the air and seemed almost to fight with itself, pulling apart and eventually splitting in two. Gaps in the dark mass the shape of eyes blinked open in each, followed by a wide, grinning mouth. Long fangs grew in one mouth, and long horns spiralled from the head of the other.

Doctor Schrader let out a little whimper.

“The Fanged One and the Horned One!” he whispered. “You actually summoned them! The spell worked! It’s… it’s impossible!”

Before Layton could reply, the demons suddenly leapt into movement. They flew straight at the pair, who leapt aside with shocked yells. One demon dived into the bookcase behind them, and books began to shoot out, flying haphazardly across the room at worrying speeds.

The other demon flew up the wall and settled itself on the ceiling, where it hung upside down, and began to shoot blue flames from its mouth.  

“Andrew!” shouted Layton as he narrowly avoided a collection of heavy textbooks zooming past his head. “Is there a counter spell in your notes? A way to send them back?”

“No!” the Doctor shouted back, ducking under the desk to avoid another spate of blue flames. “But in theory, you should be able to control them!”

“How would I do that?” asked Layton urgently.

“Just… tell them what to do!” the Doctor replied, flapping his hands vaguely.

The Professor looked up at the demon on the ceiling, which had started cackling wildly.

“Stop this at once!” he yelled.

The demon laughed even more loudly, and blue fire shot from its jaws, setting the rug alight. Layton gasped, then ran to fetch the watering can he kept for his pot plant and upended it on the flames, which flickered and died. Books continued to fly from the other side of the room, and he ducked as his favourite encyclopedia was lobbed overhead. The Doctor shouted something, but he couldn’t make out the words over the ruckus.

“I beg your pardon?” he called.

“In _Akkadian_ , Hershel!” Schrader bellowed back from his hiding place under the desk. “You have to tell them what to do in Akkadian!”

“I don’t speak Akkadian!” Layton protested, managing to catch one book and using it to shield himself from another.

“You did before when you summoned them! Argh!”

The demon with the fangs had finally tired of throwing books, and had detached itself from the shelves to fly straight at Schrader. Seeing his mentor in danger pushed all other thoughts from Layton’s mind, and he ran forwards. Stopping in the middle of the office, he pointed at the demon and shouted with all his might.

“ _Stop!_ ”

Or at least, he thought that was what he yelled. It was what he’d _meant_ to yell. The word came out sounding different, foreign to his ears. The demon froze mid-flight, and the one on the ceiling fell silent. Layton and Schrader glanced at each other, wide-eyes, then back to the demons.

_“I’d like you to return to where you came from,”_ Layton continued, _“Immediately.”_

As soon as he’d spoken, a strong wind surged through the study. The Professor was forced to grip onto his hat to avoid losing it, and shield his face as papers, pens and other clutter were caught up and tossed around the room. When the gale died down, he scanned the room tensely, but the demons were nowhere to be seen.

Both men let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Well I don’t understand at all how any of that happened, Hershel,” said Andrew after a moment. “But one thing’s for sure. You certainly know Akkadian.”

“What exactly did I say?” asked Layton after a moment.

“ _Naparkû_ ,” said Schrader, “Akkadian for ‘cease’ or ‘halt’. I didn’t catch the rest, I’m afraid.”

Schrader got awkwardly to his feet and sat down heavily on the sofa. Layton sank into his own desk chair. The two took a few minutes to attempt to process what had occurred.

“Well, this will certainly warrant further investigation,” Layton said eventually. “In the meantime, I suppose I shall have to start by clearing up this office.”

They both looked around at the mess of thrown books and charred furniture, papers blown everywhere and ornaments toppled. Schrader grimaced and moved to help, but Layton quickly waved him off.

“I’ll see to it. You have a meeting soon, do you not?”

Schrader huffed and checked his pocket watch. “Ah. You’re quite right. Bother.”

With a hurriedly apology, he bid Layton farewell and, with a last regretful glance around the study, he left. The Professor sighed, and began collecting up his scattered books.

A few minutes after the Doctor departed, someone knocked at the office door.

“Come in,” called the Professor, expecting Schrader back to collect his hat which, he had just noticed, had been knocked off during the commotion and now sat upturned on the ground.

However, when the door creaked open, it was not the Doctor who entered but another familiar face.

“Raymond?” said the Professor. “This is certainly a surprise. Do come in.”

The manservant bowed, and closed the door softly behind him.

“Sit down,” Layton urged, gesturing to the sofa. “I must confess, you are one of the last people I had expected to see here today.”

Raymond bowed his head in thanks as he sat. He must have noticed the chaotic state of the study, but, tactful as ever, he declined to mention it.

“I am here on behalf of my master, Professor Sycamore,” he said. “We are in need of your assistance, Professor. It was not initially my master’s wish to contact you, as he felt it would be inappropriate to request your help, but the situation has worsened, and it has become clear that we have no other choice. There has been a worrying development in the wake of the incident at the Azran Sanctuary.”

The Professor cast a glance around at the destruction left by the demons.

“Glowing eyes, perchance?” he asked.

Raymond’s eyebrows raised a fraction.

“Indeed, sir,” he said. “And more besides.”

“I expected as much,” Layton moved the other side of the study and began preparing two cups of tea. “Tell me everything.”

 

 

Just before midnight that same day, in Misthallery, Arianna and Tony were waiting on the bank of the canal connecting with the far side of the dried-up lake bed, opposite their manor. It had been difficult to reach, especially in the dark. They’d had to take the long way around, creeping out the back entrance and all the way around the lake, hanging back in the trees that bordered it. Cutting across the dam wall would have been easier, but they would have been spotted by the Targent recruits that were stationed along it.

The team had set up its base at the entrance to the Golden Garden, right in the middle of the lake bed, and the night watchmen, stationed throughout the town to ensure none of the residents tried anything after dark, were most abundantly stationed here. Unfortunately for the Bardes, the lake and the site it contained were right on their doorstep.

Rumour had it that Targent’s base had fallen a few weeks ago, that their leader had been imprisoned and was awaiting trial. When the townspeople had first heard the news, they were overjoyed, sure that the invaders who had overrun their home over the past months would finally be forced to leave. But the agent in charge of holding the Golden Garden had refused to budge. With the police station under their control and no one allowed to leave town, news of Targent’s presence in Misthallery could go on being a secret, meaning they could afford to finish their research before vacating. And after all, their leader had been overheard reasoning, if Targent had truly fallen, who knew when they’d ever be able to come back? So their tyrannical rule of the town continued, and the townsfolk turned to more and more desperate measures.

The night was cold, and the siblings huddled together for warmth. Tony was wearing three jumpers and his favourite blue scarf, and Arianna was draped in their father’s heavy black overcoat. When they’d been smaller, they’d sometimes shared the big coat, taken one sleeve each and shuffled out together to see Loosha on a frosty winter morning, but they’d grown too much over the past couple of years to do that anymore.

The quiet creaking of timbers and smooth lapping of water alerted them that they had company. The prow of a boat appeared out of the darkness, shortly followed by the back of the man rowing it.

“Bucky!” Arianna hissed. “Up here!”

Bucky’s head turned, and he grinned when he spotted the siblings crouched on the bank.

“There you are, kids!” he called softly, tossing a rope around the nearest bollard and pulling his boat alongside them. “Hop in!”

They scrambled into the boat and settled low in the stern, hunched down and silent. With a wary glance around, Bucky cast off.

Although Targent had imposed curfews and demanded all boats be accounted for to limit movement around town without their knowledge, Bucky knew every inch of the Misthallery waterways better than anyone else could ever hope to. Hiding away little crafts and finding convoluted routes that avoided sentries was child’s play to him. He took them on one such route now, around the outside of Highyard Hill, past the old dig site and the research centre, and through a dark, mossy tunnel which emerged in the centre of North Ely, where Dominica liked to frequent.

A couple of times they heard low voices or footsteps, or glimpsed movement on the shore, and Bucky had to hide the boat under the shadows of a bridge or low hanging tree. There they would wait, still as statues, hardly daring to breathe, until the agents had moved on.

Eventually they made their way down past the house which had once been the Tritons’, and arrived on the far side of the market, opposite the twin bridges.

Bucky hooked his thumbs behind his overall straps, smiling broadly. “You’re welcome, kids!” he whispered. “Remember, any time you need help getting around town, ol’ Bucky’s here to help. Need boats?”

“Need Bucky!” Arianna and Tony finished together before he could, and Bucky’s grin widened. He gave Arianna a friendly pat on the shoulder and ruffled Tony’s hair affectionately.

“Ah, you’re good kids, you two,” he said softly. His smile faded slightly. “I wish you were all out of this. You’re too young to have to be sneaking around like this, trying to save a whole town.”

He shook his head and his grin appeared back in place. “Well, good luck to ya, kids! I’ll back here in two hours, as arranged. Bye-bye for now!”

“Bye Bucky!” the two chorused quietly, before turning and scrambling up the bank. They crept through the abandoned market, heading for the entrance to the Black Market.

“Took your sweet time,” came Nabby’s sour voice out of the darkness as they approached. He let them through to the hole and they clambered hurriedly down the ladder. Crow and Marilyn were waiting in the tunnel below.

“Hi there!” said Marilyn when they reached her. “Glad you both made it!”

“Good to see you again, rich kids,” said Crow, grinning. The Bardes smiled back. They didn’t mind his jabs and nicknames anymore, they had stopped being real insults long ago.

“You too Crow,” said Tony. He glanced around, confirming they were the only ones there so far. “Have you, uh, dropped the blue spoon in the morning?”

“At _dawn_ ,” Crow corrected him, “But yes, we’ve alerted the others. They should be here soon.”

“Crow, if you keep translating coded messages out loud, we may as well not bother with them at all!” scolded Marilyn as she ushered them through the passage.

“We’re underground anyway,” huffed Crow. “Does it really matter?”

“You’re the one who keeps telling us to use code more,” Arianna reminded him with a giggle.

Crow had the decency to look a little embarrassed, but was spared from having to reply by the arrival of Wren and Socket.

Joyful greetings were made. It had been a while since the Bardes had been able to make contact with the Ravens, having relied mostly on coded notes left in strategic hiding places, not risking attending a meeting more than once every few weeks. Targent’s focus was on containing the police, Mayor Greppe and the other outspoken adults rather than the children, but it didn’t hurt to avoid attracting attention. Better they never gave Targent a reason to question why the reclusive young heirs to the Barde estate and the scruffy market kids were so close.

Once all the Ravens had arrived, they moved through to the back room of the auction hall to begin their meeting. As usual, a collection of battered chairs retrieved from alleyways and old crates storing various treasures had been set out in a circle. They took their seats quickly, without the normal jostling for chairs and complaints about being stuck sitting on boxes, which really drove home the feeling that this meeting was not like the others. They had a mission to do tonight, one which affected more than just their weekly profits. Marilyn didn’t even have to tell anyone to quieten down when Crow stepped into the circle and called for order.

The meeting continued as it began, with surprising efficiency.

“Ravens, this is it,” Crow addressed them seriously. “Our chance to get word out to the outside world about those brutes taking over our town. The adults have tried contacting police lots of times, but Targent as good as owns our police station now, and the outside police won’t act as long as our Sergeant is being forced to report that all is well and the stories are lies. So, we’re going to call in some help of our own, from one of the only adults who’s ever taken us kids seriously, and who’s come to this town’s rescue before. Arianna, do you have the letter?”

Arianna pulled out the draft she’d written, and the others crowded around.

“Why is it addressed to Luke?” demanded Scraps. “I know they’re always together, but wouldn’t it make more sense to…?”

“We don’t have Mr Layton’s address,” Tony answered for her. “And we couldn’t remember the name of the university where he works. We all know the Tritons’ new address though, and that’s the next best thing.”

 Arianna read out what she’d written, and Crow, Wren and Louis set to editing. Once everyone was satisfied they’d described the situation comprehensively enough, Marilyn fetched paper and envelopes from the stationary drawer, Tweeds produced some stamps, and final copies were made.

Once that was organised, talk turned to the journey itself. Once the meeting was over, the Ravens would kick up a fuss in Highyard Hill near the police station to distract the night watchmen. Meanwhile, the Bardes would be hitching another ride with Bucky to the edge of town, then making their way through the forest until they reached a roadside letterbox at the nearest crossroads. Badger would be making the journey with them too, as his running and dodging abilities were the stuff of local legend.

Wren clapped her hands.

“Ok, as we all know, we only have one shot at this. Once the Ravens cause a distraction it’s only a matter of time until they catch us, and even if they believe we’re just messing around, they’ll be keeping a closer watch on us after this. You three will have to move fast, so they don’t realise the Ravens aren’t the only people out tonight.”

There was a backup plan in place – should the Ravens causing the diversion be suspected of having ulterior motives, Paddy had agreed to testify that some children had taken advantage of the commotion to steal a large quantity of pastries from his kitchen. Hopefully, that would be enough to convince Targent that there really was nothing more than children running wild to worry about.

At Wren’s suggestion, they’d made three copies of the letter, one for each of them to carry, in case one person was caught or dropped their letter on the way. They were intending to post at least two copies in case one was lost in the post. The fate of the village was at stake – they couldn’t afford to take chances.

As the meeting drew to a close, everyone got to their feet and began making preparations for their various roles. The Ravens gathered pots and pans to make noise, and Socket made sure his newest contraption was ready to go. Inspired by the ‘spectre’ which had terrorised the town a couple of years ago, he’d built a machine for creating mist from canal water, to confuse the watchmen who came for them, and make the Ravens more difficult to catch.

“I’m nervous,” Tony admitted quietly as he tucked his copy of the letter into his shirt.

Arianna put an arm around his shoulders, and Tweeds patted his arm.

“Me too,” he said. “But it’ll be ok! Wren’s plans never go wrong. Here, take this.”

He placed a piece of wrapped toffee in Tony’s hand.

“For luck!” he said. “One of the last ones I bought from Aunt Taffy before she got into that big argument with those Targent bullies she wouldn’t sell her sweets to, and they confiscated it all.”

Tony looked down at the lolly, touched. “Thanks, Tweeds!” he said, smiling. The older boy smiled back, then readjusted his grip on the saucepans he was holding and went to join the others.

“Ok, Ravens!” called Crow. “Decoy team, let’s go. Running team, leave in fifteen minutes from now. Good luck everyone!”

Most of the group filed out of the meeting room, leaving just Arianna, Tony and Badger, who settled in to wait their turn.

Arianna checked her watch. Ten past one in the morning. It was going to be a long night.

 

 

A few days later, as the sun began to set, the crew of the Bostonius made their separate ways to Professor Layton’s – now mercifully clean and demon-free – office.

Luke arrived with a guard of squirrels and pigeons – his compromise with his parents for allowing him out on the streets of London alone at night, he explained – which obediently agreed to wait outside, save for one of each species which remained perched on either shoulder as he took a seat on the sofa.

Emmy’s new haircut caused a stir when she arrived, carrying a rucksack and clearly unsure how to act around the friends she’d deemed herself unworthy of.

Professor Sycamore was even more uncomfortable, escorted by Raymond and not meeting anyone’s eye.

Everyone was offered a cup of tea and a seat, and the meeting began.

“Well, it would appear that our recent venture into the Azran Sanctuary has affected us even more than we had expected,” began Layton. “Everyone here today has noticed a strange new ability over the past couple of weeks. There is also the matter of glowing eyes which we appear to have in common. While it defies logic, it seems that we must conclude that our, erm, revival by the Azran has changed us, either gifted or awoken these… powers we now find ourselves with.”

The others nodded in agreement, each having come to the same conclusion themselves.

They went around the circle quickly, each giving a brief description of the ability they had gained. The atmosphere was grave and uncomfortable, nothing like their time together on the Bostonius had been, the Professor reflected sadly.

Emmy winced and looked away quickly whenever she met Layton’s or Luke’s eye, the guilt and pain of her betrayal still fresh, even if she’d chosen them over Leon in the end and been forgiven.

Sycamore kept his arms tightly folded and his shoulders hunched defensively, speaking in a flat tone and only when he had to. It seemed he was uncomfortable being back in his natural appearance, now it wasn’t a disguise anymore.

Luke was uncharacteristically despondent, speaking little, appearing troubled and seemingly lost in thought. The squirrel and the pigeon remained perched on either shoulder, grooming quietly.

After they’d all spoken, they lapsed into an awkward silence.

Eventually Emmy stirred. “What about Uncle L … er, Bronev?” she asked hesitantly. “He was in one of the beams too. Do we have any news?”

Layton had already looked into that; a phone call to the prison had revealed that the night guards had noticed an eerie blue glow emanating from Bronev’s cell the previous night, and found their charge levitating several feet off the ground, looking just as shocked as they were.

He relayed this information, and Sycamore laughed bitterly.

“Oh, I see. So flight, the most desirable of these… _abilities_ we have been saddled with, is gifted to the least deserving of all. Fate is cruel.”

No one really had an answer to that, so the silence returned.

 

“So, now we know we have these… uh… powers,” Emmy spoke up again, “Now what? I mean… what do we do?”

There was a pause as she glanced around at the others, then –

“We use them to help others.”

The others turned to look at Luke, surprised. He met their gaze seriously. “And we can start here,” he said, before nodding at the squirrel.

The squirrel quickly fetched an envelope out of his satchel and passed it up to him. He pulled a couple of sheets of paper out and passed them back to the squirrel, which darted forwards to place them on the coffee table in the centre of their circle.

“This letter arrived last night from Misthallery,” he said.

The others leaned forward to read it, and exclaimed in shock.

“Why those dirty – Targent has disbanded!” Emmy burst out. “Swift is reforming them! That party should have been recalled weeks ago! They’re disobeying direct orders!” Her eyes blazed as she spoke, suddenly looking like her old self again. “They’re tormenting those poor townspeople, and after all they’ve been though, too! I won’t stand for this!”

She leapt to her feet and turned to Luke. “I’m coming with you to drive them out!” she announced. “When do we leave?”

For the first time since he arrived, Luke’s face split into a smile. “I hoped you’d say that, Emmy,” he replied.

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Layton’s heart warmed to see the two grinning at each other, full of energy, just like old times.

“I too will assist you, naturally,” he said, leaning forward.

Emmy and Luke both turned their smiles on him, before hesitating and looking slowly to Sycamore.

The other Professor jerked in surprise.

“What?” he asked. “You’re… you’re not expecting me to be included in this, surely?”

Luke and Emmy glanced at each other. Luke deflated slightly, his face falling again. The pigeon fluttered down into his lap and snuggled against his jumper, as if to comfort him, and he turned away.

Emmy, however, turned her fierce gaze back on Sycamore.

“I don’t see why you shouldn’t!” she said. “We’re in this together, after all.”

He gaped at her. “I betrayed you all!” he protested. “I shouldn’t even _be_ here! Not to mention that I don’t have control over my ghastly new party trick. Why would you want _my_ help? I am the _villain_ here, in case you don’t remember!”

At that, Luke looked up from where he’d been petting the pigeon in his lap and met Sycamore’s gaze squarely.

“You helped destroy my town three years ago,” he said quietly. “The least you can do is help us save it now.”

Sycamore stared at him for a moment, his mouth slightly open, then turned away very quickly. He folded his arms and shut his eyes, shoulders hunched, and breathed heavily through his nose.

“Very well,” he spat eventually. “But I still think it’s a bad idea.”

Layton nodded.

“Well then, that’s settled,” he said. “After all, it is the duty of every gentleman – and gentlewoman – to help those in need, particularly old friends. I propose that you all go home and get a good night’s rest, and we can return here tomorrow morning. I believe some investigation into the extents of our new abilities are in order.”

 

And so it was decided that the Bostonius crew would indeed be reunited for one final mission.

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2 will be out soon! 
> 
> My tumblr is @dont-drop-your-ascots


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